


Career Day

by Brillador



Series: Our Fine Town (Next Generation) [7]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Gen, Magic, Next Generation, Parent-Child Relationship, Platonic Relationships, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 10:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brillador/pseuds/Brillador
Summary: Snow calls on Rumple to participate in a career-day fair at the local high school, per the request of his daughter and a few other interested individuals. Rumple has his doubts. The turnout proves otherwise.





	Career Day

**Author's Note:**

> Canon-divergent from the S5 finale. This is a Gideon-free verse.

He couldn’t have heard her right. It was still morning. He’d opened the pawnshop with a yawn, so lethargy might’ve been affecting his hearing. Rumplestiltskin blinked and even shook his head. “Sorry?”

Snow White raised her eyebrows, closed her eyes and pulled in a breath to refresh her patience—or restore her sanity.

“I said, I’d like your help with Career Day at the high school.”

All right. Scratch the ‘sanity’ part.

“Flattered as I am,” Rumple said, “I think you’re looking for Regina. At least, I presume the feeble rationale behind this request is that you want someone with magic to help with—what’s it called?”

“Career Day,” Snow said, then tacked on, “It’s an opportunity for young people to know what career paths are out there. Even the magic ones.”

“Right. Again, shouldn’t you be asking _Regina_ for help?”

“I’m asking on behalf of Téa and Scarlet.”

Rumple flinched. Téa he could understand, if her hope was that he’d set up an alchemist’s table to wow the student body with his potions (a tempting prospect). But Scarlet Mills?

“Has Regina gone missing? Or Emma for that matter? Was there a recent crisis I was not made aware of?”

“Not a recent one, no,” said Snow. Now she was looking at him like he was supposed to read into what she was making a supreme effort _not_ to say. As though the catalyst behind this conversation was obvious.

Rumple was getting too old to play guessing games. “Just tell me what this is about.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Snow rolled back her head, almost calling to the gods, before throwing a weary glare at him that perfectly resembled Emma Swan’s. “You’ve been teaching a magic class for the last, what, three years?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it class,” Rumple said. “More like a small workshop or exercise session. Like yoga.”

“That might be the first time I’ve heard you _undersell_ your magical expertise. Well, Scarlet and Téa seem to consider it a legitimate educational experience, and they came to me asking if you could set up your own booth at our Career Day Fair. They made it sound like they’d already talked to you, but the more I thought about it . . .”

“Yes.” Despite his astonishment at the news, he smiled.  “It’s flattering, but I have an actual business to run.”

“Right. Because you’ve _never_ missed a day of work in your life.”

The dark stare he fired at Snow was only returned. To better deflect, Snow said, “You can integrate your pawnshop business into the booth setup, but the big draw will be the magic. Regina and Emma want to focus on civil service. You know, since they’re the mayor and the sheriff.”

Rumple lay a hand on his chest. “And I’m a lowly shop keeper.”

“You’re arguably the most powerful sorcerer in town. Even Regina knows that.” Snow dropped her shoulders, which Rumple wanted to take as a sign of resignation. No, far from it. She was refusing to get tense over asking the Dark One for a favor. Or buttering him up. “These last several years, you’ve shown that despite your prickly attitude and past misdeeds, you do care at least a little about this town. About the kids.”

“About _my_ kid,” he reminded her. “And her friends.”

“Then do this for them. Show them what I think you want them to know, that magic, while dangerous and potentially dark, can be used for good.”

A shadow of doubt directed at someone other than Snow crossed his face. “I’m sure your daughter can handle that.”

“In her own way, yes. But imagine what it would do for the kids who don’t see themselves as future sheriffs—future Saviors.” Snow folded her arms, glanced at the ground, then continued. “Things have been rough with Scarlet and her family. We’re all seeing our children enter those teenage years. Don’t you think it’s a good idea to show them that, whatever their frustrations, they are part of a supportive community that does understand them?”

Rumple inhaled a silent, thoughtful breath. Credit where credit was due: Snow could occasionally knock the wind out of his cynical sails. For someone who didn’t have magic, who never had to carry the weight of such power and temptation day to day, she had some apt insight. Maybe she’d talked through this with Regina before coming to see him.

But even that didn’t hold his interest. Instead he thought of Téa. Had she suggested this to him first? He couldn’t remember, and that shamed him. He should’ve been paying attention. He _did_ pay attention, but sometimes he dismissed what at the time were idle suggestions because, really, who wanted the Dark One to help them except in desperate circumstances? Well, the magic sessions he conducted at the cabin did draw in a handful of children. Even kids who didn’t have magic—Neal Nolan, Phillip Rose, Kenneth Jones—came to watch and cheer on their friends.

Recently, along with his daughter and Robin “Scarlet” Mills and Alexandra Herman-Boyd, some middle-school children had congregated to learn and practice magic, each bringing an interesting set of abilities. The Kidd children could shapeshift into goats. Barbara Quill could extend and retract, well, quills at will. Kiki Pond was an exceptional swimmer who could hold her breath far longer than ordinary people, and she had amazing reflexes, even catching arrows (although her first impulse was to catch them with her tongue). One child could understand animals—perhaps a distant relation of Snow’s. One girl could spit out gold nuggets while her cousin spat out tiny toads. One boy had inherited his father’s inability to know fear, making him the most frustrating student to work with. Rumple had to yank or poof him out of danger thanks to his underdeveloped sense of self-preservation. But he made a handy volunteer when the other children were too terrified to act as a target or a sparring partner.

Any given “class,” as Snow put it, was a mystery box brimming with surprises. Yet as nerve-wracking as they could get, the sessions also satisfied some void in Rumple, one he’d not thought about in years. Mentoring his own child should’ve been enough, but he’d instructed perfect strangers in magic long before.

“Well?” asked Snow.

His reverie broken, Gold came back to the present. “You may have some small point.”

Snow smiled with such saccharine enthusiasm that Rumple had to look at the counter and the telescope he’d been repairing to spare his eyes. “Savor this while you can, Mrs. Nolan.”

“Oh, I will.”

* * *

The cafeteria had transformed into a standing army of three-sided project boards atop tables arranged in aisles. Friday was declared a half-day, as often happened for special events, so students could spend the afternoon perusing the booths like they were shopping. Some adults went all out with their displays and props. Grumpy brought an electric drill. He let the kids hold it and switch it on, which quickly earned Snow’s concerned reprimands. He was persuaded to ban his eager audience from touching the power tools. Fortunately, he had a backup plan: hand out safety goggles and give demonstrations with a block of wood. Later, he would be _asked_ to stay and clean up all the sawdust on his table and the floor.

Most adults opted for colorful, hands-off booths that dispensed vital information about their jobs. Kids understandably gravitated to the exciting careers like firefighter and sheriff. Emma had the mind to bring a few pairs of handcuffs. There were also questions and requests regarding the sheriff’s magic. Did she regularly use magic to stop criminals? Did she really defeat ogres and giants? Could she show them how she used magic to knock someone down? Emma responded with honesty. While she did enjoy tripping over a big senior student with a wave of her hand, she repeatedly assured the rest of them that a good police officer relied on his or her strengths. If you have magic, that’s a great tool, but it’s not a job requirement.

Rumple started to understand why several teens who had visited Emma’s booth across the way shuffled over to his. He’d erected his own three-paneled project poster with a twist. At first, it looked like he’d glued on a panoramic view of his shop’s interior. On closer look, however, the image became three-dimensional. Some kids asked as soon as they saw it, “Are those 3D LED screens?” Then they circled around (or crawled under) the table to inspect what they assumed to be a piece of quality tech.

“It’s not technology,” Rumple explained to many a curious passerby. “It’s magic.”

Rarely did he get a chance to open with anything other than how his enchanted poster worked, but that was partly the point. He couldn’t resist including an eye-catching gimmick. Intrigued spectators asked about it, so he explained how this spell captured a living image of any location.

“Oh, like those paintings in Harry Potter!” one child pointed out.

Rumple barely knew a thing about Harry Potter beyond what his daughter had told him or forced him to watch; he simply agreed and continued to the rest of his limited demonstration of magic. One of his visual aids was a bouquet of red roses. He plucked one up, then waved his hand over the flower. As though overtaken by a sudden and aggressive frost, the rose transformed into a ceramic replica.

A few children who had the expressive or taciturn visages of artists marveled at this spell. The kids looking for more _spark_ appropriately gawked but then tilted their heads; was this the best he could do?

“Most magic isn’t fireworks,” he remarked to those antsy members of his audience. “Much of it is hidden for practical purposes. I have wards around the shop to protect it from natural and magical disasters. If there’s someone I want to keep out—or if I want to keep _everyone_ out—I could do so.”

“Maybe you could use that spell on the school to keep the teachers out,” one boy piped up, inspiring a few titters.

“Well,” Rumple continued with a sly grin of his own, “I’m a businessman by trade, not some reclusive wizard who belabors over dusty texts for months on end.”

“He does that on his days off,” said a girl in the back of the group.

Rumple popped up his eyebrows. Half a dozen teens whirled around, terrified and eager to know who had the gall to make a joke about Mr. Gold. Disappointed sighs rolled among them when they saw Téa Gold and her teasing smile.

“My _point_ ,” Rumple continued after a sharp look at his daughter, “is that if you find yourself in need of a little magic—be if for useful purposes or to antagonize your teachers—you can come to my shop and negotiate a price.”

No surprise that some kids grew alarmed at the idea. Maybe not in complete fear of Mr. Gold himself, but at such temptation.

One girl a little younger than Téa came up to the booth. She bore a striking resemblance to Ashley Boyd, albeit with dirtier blond hair, studied Rumple’s roses and some samples of his store wares—a few teacups, a chess set, a small clock, a ship in a bottle. Then she asked him something. “How much does magic cost?”

“Depends,” Rumple said.

“On what?”

“How hefty the magic is. The more complex the magic, the bigger the price.”

“What kind of magic costs a first-born?”

Rumple felt justified in letting himself look more astonished than when Téa had commented. He deftly regained his composure. “Do you have access to a first-born?”

“My big sister.” The girl spoke as though they were talking about the weather.

His alarm dissolved into amusement. “I think your sister would have some objection to your selling her for a spell.”

“Knock it off, Suzy.” Téa had elbowed her way through the crowd and caught the last snippet of the conversation. “My dad doesn’t make those kinds of deals.” She stared pointedly at him. “Right, Pop?”

Rumple was slow to respond, but his smile never faltered. “I’m afraid my daughter is right, Miss Herman. Deals for firstborn children have become passé. But I’ll accept firstborn pets. Puppies, especially.”

Suzy Herman-Boyd shook her head. “Some Dark One. Mom’s got you all wrong.” She walked off, moving along with other children while another trickle of kids funneled into the vacant space.

Both Golds watched her, each aware that they’d just been in the presence of a fascinating and disturbing creature. Téa then turned to her father. “How did _both_ the Herman girls turn out so weird?”

“I thought you liked Alex,” Rumple remarked without offense, just mild confusion.

“I do, but she’s still weird. I don’t think _she’d_ sell her sister to you, though.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised if the thought crossed her mind once or twice.”

Just as Rumple started to wonder how much of his past acquaintance with Ashely Boyd her daughters knew about, two familiar faces finished their beeline to the table from across the room. Scarlet Mills, her hair tied back in a loose braid, brightly greeted Téa, then riveted her attention on the items in Rumple’s booth. She remembered her manners and bid the man good afternoon. Neal Nolan, who said, “Good afternoon,” first, hung back a little, a shoulder behind Téa. If he was still intimidated by Rumplestiltskin, he managed to mask it as polite consideration of space. Scarlet had no qualms about going in and picking up one of the ceramic roses. Neal eyed her like a fellow deer trying not to panic but wondering why his herd member was treading so close to a treacherous precipice.

“Kind of a shame to do to a rose,” Scarlet remarked.

“Saves the time and effort that goes into a rejuvenation spell,” said Rumple.

Téa nodded. “At least it won’t wilt.”

Scarlet peered at her friend. “Part of the beauty of nature is that nothing last forever.”

Despite the hackneyed phrase, Scarlet’s gentle, low, mature voice lent some gravitas to it. She gingerly examined the porcelain rose. After turning it over a few times, she lifted one hand. It moved over the rose, from stem to flower. The lifeless, shiny plant transformed back into its true state.

“Well done, Miss Mills.” A swell of pride he wasn’t expecting filled Rumple. He’d been teaching her with Regina aid’s and supervision (and the occasional interference from Zelena), and he’d watched her blossom into a talented witch. Hardly a surprise given her lineage, but Regina hadn’t been able to undo any spell of his in the same length of time he’d tutored Scarlet. Zelena might’ve been capable if they’d worked together longer, seeing as magic came more intuitively to Scarlet’s mother.

“Plants are the easiest for me to work with,” Scarlet admitted.

“Don’t forget: much of it has to do with what your emotions are most strongly tied to. You have a deep love of nature, flora and fauna, so your magic is more malleable where those are concerned.”

He didn’t realize that a few more kids were pausing to listen. He did notice Téa’s face. She’d heard the same dictum many times over, yet she watched with delight, even pride. He couldn’t grasp the reason.

“For example,” he continued, “one of the first things I learned to use magic for was spinning straw into gold. Now, when I try teaching that, most people find it next to impossible. For them, spinning is a dull activity, and their focus is on the gold itself. For me, spinning had become second nature. I felt an emotional connection to what spinning truly is: transformation. Ordinary spinners reshape raw wool into a material that people consider vital and valuable. I found that fascinating and empowering, and I had a talent for it. The best gift to a sorcerer is finding that one thing, even unrelated to magic, that you’ve a knack for and care about. Once you find that and discipline yourself in it, magic inevitably follows.”

Neal cleared his throat and spoke, summoning Rumple’s attention. At the same time, Rumple became aware of his engrossed audience, children ranging from seventh to twelfth grade and showing remarkable, wordless focus. He also realized that, as usual, he’d been gesturing with his hands, and a concern that, with so many people crowding in, he might hit someone temporarily prompted him to keep his hands clasped.

“What if you feel as though you have no talent?” Neal spoke with a stiltedness that helped Rumple understand his intent. The concerned, nearly heartbreaking look Téa gave him confirmed it.

“Well . . . there was a time in my life where I thought I had no real talent. I didn’t know spinning was my calling until, one day, the opportunity to try it fell into my lap. Before then I felt . . . well, that I was hopeless. Before then, no one encouraged me to pursue any dreams or even develop useful skill. When I talk about finding your talent, I don’t mean you need to find something that you are better at than anyone else. Chances are, there will always be someone else who is better at you at even your best. But that doesn’t matter. That’s not what makes magic possible. Magic is your own journey, dictated by no one but yourself. You can listen and learn from others, but there will be things that no one can teach you. You must discover them in your own way. Maybe it will come quickly. Maybe it won’t. The important thing is not letting fear stop you from trying. Believe me, I know what that feels like. Many times I failed, and many times I was convinced that there was no point in trying. But . . . but I’ve realized recently that failure is not the end of the journey. If anything, it’s the beginning. Failure teaches you far more than success does. It teaches you to get up and try again. It teaches you that you need to approach a problem from a different angle. It teaches you knowledge, wisdom, and courage. Hold on to those lessons in your darkest hours, your lowest moments. They’ll help you find what you need and show you just how much you’re capable of.”

As he spoke, he watched the faces immediately before him, especially Téa and Neal and Scarlet. Only after he felt a natural settle in, ending his unintentional speech, did he feel the presence of the _crowd_. Teens and pre-teens clogged the aisle, unmoving. They wore their interest, their anxiety, their doubt, their belief with more openness than they probably meant to. Parents, teachers and otherwise from the nearest booths drifted in to listen. Their expressions were more guarded, yet their unwavering stares told him plenty. The sheer volume of listeners swamped him with awe and discomfort. He liked his theatrics, but only when he wanted to frighten or impress. He’d talked without wanting either. He started wishing he hadn’t run his mouth off. Mockery would surely follow.

Out of the corner of his eye, Regina Mills nudged into view. “Everyone,” she announced, “please keep moving! We must not block the aisle!”

That got most of everyone scooting along to the next eye-catching booth. But a small cluster of young people remained, including Téa. She caught Rumple’s hand. “That was . . . that was great, Pop.” She seemed to be struggling to stop her smile from jumping off her face in exuberance.

“It was, Mr. Gold,” Neal said. “It wasn’t the answer I expected. I liked it.”

“Me, too,” Scarlet said. “A little cheesy, but still good.”

Téa glared at her, but Rumple laughed. “Thank you.”

Much as she seemed to appreciate his words, Scarlet hustled to the booth for the animal shelter. Neal and Téa obliged her with a quick, final wave to Rumple.

As though given a cue, Regina side-stepped in front of him. “Quite a crowd you drew,” she said, not sarcastic but with a drop of dry amusement.

“Not intentionally. I’m not looking to steal anyone’s thunder.”

“I say it’s an improvement over the lectures you once gave me. Those had a more . . . threatening edge, if I recall.”

“Well, yes. I was giving a pep talk to my future curse-caster.” Rumple nodded to where the children had stood. “Not an applicable lesson for most.”

“Good to hear.” Now Regina let her arched attitude shine through, raised eyebrow and all. But they gradually lowered. “I know we’ve had issues seeing eye to eye about what we’re teaching these kids. I don’t want any of them to end up on the path I did.”

“Nor do I,” Rumple said.

Regina shifted her eyes minutely, gauging his expression. “You really mean that,” she said at last.

“Yes. I’ve been on that road myself, and I’ve no more desire to see anyone walk it.” He glanced to where Téa and her friends ventured. “I have my family now. I want what’s best for them. If that means helping others who might face similar choices as we have and avoiding more curses and feuds, I’ll lend what services I can.”

Regina absorbed this in respectful silence. He could see the flecks of doubt in her face. He didn’t hold that against her. He couldn’t promise that he would forever persevere in the face of temptation, nor that he would put the whole town’s well-being above his family, if it ever came to that. Yet, as Regina’s scrutiny softened into a small smile, he secretly admitted that being regarded as a friend and trusted peer rather than a broker of shady deals had its allure.

“I’ll hold you to that,” said Regina with subdued affection. It was fleeting, yet it struck something in Rumple that the corner of his mouth flexed upward.


End file.
